


///

by searwrites (sears)



Series: dudebro au [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, dudebro!au, eren w/ daddy issues, minor mentions of homophobic slurs, public fondling, slurs in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sears/pseuds/searwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally posted on tumblr.</p>
<p>----------</p>
<p>continuation of sticky hands and grip tape from an anon prompt where one meets the other's parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	///

Eren thinks he’s developing a permanent twitch in his shoulders thanks to Jean. He paces around his foyer, biting on the inside of his lip and fiddling with the tattered sleeve of his shirt. So, Jean wants to meet his mom. No big deal, right?

Except, it _is_ a big deal. Jean can be a fucking faded idiot sometimes, and he would totally show up to his mom’s house looking extra faggy and flamboyant, just because he thinks it’s funny when Eren’s on edge. The last thing they need is to be more obvious than they probably already are.

That’s the thing no one tells you about liking someone that actually likes you back - you both turn into flesh craving addicts that can’t seem to get enough of each other. It’s gross, when Eren thinks of it out of context, but then someone’s knocking on his door and he can’t even spare it another thought right now.

“Well, you look like a fucking mess,” Jean declares with a smirk, and Eren exhales all the air he’d spent collecting in his frenetic pacing at once. He looks… the same he always does. Tight shorts, tshirt, vans. Hot. He looks fucking hot, and Eren is going to have a heart attack because he’s so fucking _obvious_ around Jean.

“Shame I can’t say the same for you,” he says, tugging his laughing— _what_ , what are they? friends?— _friend_ inside.

Jean pries Eren’s sudden claw grip on his elbow off of him and then threads their fingers together as they walk towards the kitchen, but then Eren catches himself and shakes Jean off. Luckily Jean is used to this shit by now, but Eren still feels like an asshole for doing it. It’s just… whatever, there’s no need to rub his mom’s nose in it, right? You only shove a dog’s face in its _own_ shit, punish for its own mistakes, not the mistakes of someone else. Or something. _Fuck_ , Jean is rubbing his back now, Eren flinches and shoves him away for that too— asshole.

His mom is halfway through cooking dinner in the kitchen, oblivious that someone even entered her house. Eren clears his throat to get her attention, and then says, “Jean, this is my mother, Carla.”

She turns and levels Eren a look that says nothing more than _‘seriously?’_ before turning to Jean with a warm smile, wiping her hand off on a towel before extending it over the counter that was totally not a strategical move on Eren’s part to give them some distance, not at all.

“Well, I guess you can call me Carla, since my only son now does,” she says, and Eren wants to die, right here, right now. Just let the shitty linoleum at the edge of their kitchen melt and swallow him whole, because who fucking _does_ this? Who over the age of ten introduces friends to their parents with handshakes and, wow— okay, so, Jean is going to bow. What an _ass_.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jaeger,” Jean says, all full of sugar and sticky pleasantry, holding her hand delicately as he dips his head. God, this is literally the worst.

His mom even blushes, giggles like a school girl, which makes Eren unable to hold back a groan, and then she’s ruffling Jean’s hair with more affection than Eren’s seen off her all month. It’s been… tough, to say the least, but whatever.

“Dinner won’t be ready for a little while. Eren, sweetie, why don’t you take Jean out to the hot tub or something? It was working last night.”

Eren’s eyes promptly turn the size of their dinner plates, because no. No, hot water with Jean half naked means erections and bad things— and then having to face his mother after, _fuck_ that. Even thinking about it now is making his cock swell, and this is horrible timing, so his claw grip finds Jean’s forearm again, and he’s pulling him upstairs to his room.

Jean walks with his usual faded slow pace, and Eren could scream, for multiple reasons. His mother isn’t as stupid as she looks, for starters. Eren is already fucking horny just thinking about Jean with wet, hot skin, and a glistening mouth. Add to that fact that Jean has been casually dropping hints all week about moving back to Cali for college, and you have _this_ — Eren the emotionally stunted malfunctioning thrill ride, the kind that jerks forward and stops when you least expect it, the kind that just _looks_ unstable enough to need to be shut down and decommissioned. Keep away from children, all that shit. Eren finds himself wondering if they even have fairgrounds in California, or if it’s all disney and theme parks, and suddenly it feels like someone’s cutting out the bottom of his stomach.

“Bro, you need to chill out, you’re like… vibrating,” Jean says, turning Eren by gripping his shoulders once his door is shut behind them.

Eren doesn’t really feel like wasting time with words, and with a small flinch at the needy sound he makes, Eren practically jumps Jean, pushing their mouths together and trying to pad Jean’s bony back against thunking into the flimsy walls of his room and making too much noise. Jean lets loose a startled _‘oomph’_ but then opens his mouth with this dizzying languid ease that’s become almost fluid between them in the past month or so, tasting Eren while he slows it down, fucks his mouth with his tongue in the way that has given Eren many frustrating nights with little sleep.

Without really thinking about it, he reaches behind Jean and locks the door, and then walks them both backwards, an awkward waddle, since he doesn’t really feel like detaching their mouths just yet. It’s better this way— no one has to say anything, feelings don’t need to be discussed, and it’s _so good_ kissing him. Eren has, shamefully, came from this alone before, just the soft, wet heat of Jean’s tongue, the way he so openly _wants_ Eren, without being even a little bit ashamed of it.

When they end up on their backs on Eren’s bed, Jean with some of the wind knocked out of him, Eren can’t seem to pull him down fast enough to keep him quiet— and despite the leaking insistence of his cock, sex before dinner is just not happening.

“Holy shit dude, have you been on some kind of jerk-off sabbatical, or what?” Jean asks, voice strained and tight, both from having to lean up on his elbow to keep from crushing Eren, and also probably a product of the raging erection currently tenting his shorts.

Jean’s got this _thing_ that he does. This thing where he bites on only the left side of his lip, his teeth all sharp and gleaming, like he’s biting his mouth closed to keep from grinning. Eren hates it and loves it, all at the same time. He _loves_ it. He loves a thing about Jean. _Fuck_.

Deciding he’s not quite ready to trust his voice, Eren shrugs like a spaz, and then tugs Jean back down by the sides of his neck and kisses him again— harder this time, like he wants those sharp teeth to bruise him, mark him.

Jean is more stubborn than his flippant stoner agenda might seem, though, so when he pulls back, Eren half expects it. “Hey, are you alright?” he asks, voice soft.

Eren nods tightly, kisses him again, arches up to reach his mouth when Jean pulls back.

“Vow of silence now too?” Jean asks.

Eren sighs, deflating back onto his bed. “It’s just _weird_ , dude,” he says, words more a sigh than actual speech.

Jean juts his chin out, that way people sometimes do when they’re looking for a fight, like Jean’s offended again. “Why?” he asks.

“I haven’t had anyone over in a while,” Eren concludes neatly, shoving his forearm over his eyes. _If you can’t see it, it won’t hurt you,_ playing on some kind of stuttering repeat in the back of his mind.

Jean just laughs, of course.

“So? Your mom doesn’t seem like she cares, dude.”

“ _I_ care though,” Eren blurts, and immediately regrets it.

A small flicker of concern passes Jean’s face, tiny enough that Eren might have missed it if he hadn’t warily lifted his arm, but then Jean’s grinning like the fucking wasted idiot he is, and Eren might love some things about Jean, but he also still kind of hates him.

Jean leans down in a sudden, swift movement, pecking Eren with a closed mouth, hard and stupid— the kind of chaste that you see on hallmark cards, not the religious tongue fucking they’re been so committed to as of late.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re cute,” Jean mutters, smiling down at Eren all fond and soft. Eren punches him lightly in the arm, a nervous reaction, more than anything else.

Still, he’s smiling helplessly when Jean leans down again and kisses him slower, the hand not holding him up sliding up the side of Eren’s neck, into his hair.

Eren’s stomach lurches when Jean’s thigh presses against his cock, his hips seemingly moving of their own accord. Jean’s hand is lingering around the seam of his jeans, waiting, stroking the soft, quivering skin of his stomach. Every time they’ve fooled around it’s been at Jean’s house, or occasionally in the back of Eren’s mom’s car, when they feel like getting out of town. It’s just— nothing’s ever happened in his room, and for some reason that makes the proximity from Jean’s fingers to Eren’s cock all the more exciting, despite this being nothing new for them.

“Boys,” Eren’s mother knocks on the door, and Eren startles like a cat whose had his tail stepped on, Jean collapsing and snorting an obnoxious laugh into his shoulder, muffling the noise against his skin. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Coming,” Eren croaks out, and then smacks Jean’s head with a significant amount of force when he smirks and says, _“You wish you were,”_ before biting down on the soft exposed flesh of Eren’s arm.

He shoves Jean off of him completely, with some effort, and being startled was enough to get his erection flagged to near acceptable standards. Jean keeps smirking as they walk downstairs, and something about it has Eren buzzing again, like a bee trapped in a jar— seeing all the places you could be running away to, but bumping your head every time you try to flee.

Jean ends up sitting across from him at dinner, while his mom takes the seat at the head of the table. She doesn’t even make them say grace, which is odd, but it might not be a new thing— they haven’t sat down to eat together in a little while.

On his third sectioned mash potato mountain sculpture, Jean ends up kicking Eren beneath the table and then somehow magically manages to communicate entire sentences without speaking. _Stop being so fucking nervous,_ his eyes say, brows lifted. Eren drops his fork and lets his leg jitter, lets Jean feel how fucking wound up he is where their ankles are still pressed together. Jean looks a little sorry now.

There’s conversation happening, but Eren isn’t quite listening. Things fly back and forth, stuff about their school, about where Jean used to live, about his mom’s culturally dumbed down impressions on California, and how very wrong they apparently are. Jean has never met a famous person in his life, and no, not everyone carries their dogs around in bags. Eren thinks that last one might be kind of true, from what he’s seen on all the girls Jean has on his facebook.

And it kind of hits him like a freight train— something with slow but steady speed, more weight and brute muscle than anything else. Jean’s ankle has not moved, still rests against Eren’s beneath the table, and he’s stopped shaking, yeah, but. But, _fuck_ — he really wishes they would stop talking about California and how great it is.

“Jean is my boyfriend, mom,” Eren blurts, and then the rest comes in stages— a slideshow of stuttering, half developed photographs. His chest seizes, Jean’s ankle moves away, Eren’s mom doesn’t even _look_ at him, Jean can’t seem to look at anything _but_ him.

In fact, it’s _Jean_ that looks like the news is a kick in the groin, because his mom keeps eating and says, “Oh, that’s nice.”

Which is… kind of frustrating, and Eren would ask her _‘what in the actual fuck?’_ if he wasn’t too busy worrying about what that expression on Jean’s face means. He can’t tell if it’s angry-shock or happy-shock.

Jean is not so easily derailed, at least not on the surface, so the dinner continues without much of a hitch. Eren with his boyfriend tourettes is only a minor blip on the radar of the evening, if you look at it out of context, but he’s shaking again. Not out of nerves, really, at least not this time. More a kind of steady thrum, like he’s got too much energy in his bones.

It’s his excuse for walking Jean home afterwards, having to pull him away from another sleazy curtsy at his mother’s expense— he can go to Jean’s place and skate, let off some steam.

Jean seems a bit more normal, at least, walking with his hands in pockets, the cool breeze of impending autumn ruffling the blond tips of his hair in the hazy light from the street lamps. “I think your mom likes me, dude. She into younger guys?”

Eren goes to punch him in the arm again, but Jean expects it this time, grabs his fist and pulls him in, wraps an arm around his waist. He walks them both backward in a tense kind of not-fighting-shuffle, until Eren’s back is slamming uncomfortably into some crumbling old brick wall. A quick glance at his surroundings tells him it’s the elementary school, _his_ school— the one he and Armin went to together.

“I guess I can’t see other people now that I’m your _boyfriend_ , huh?” Jean leers, trailing his mouth in teasing puffs of hot air around the general vicinity of Eren’s ear and his neck.

Eren laughs, mainly because it fucking tickles, but also because Jean makes him feel kinda drunk when he does this— and it _is_ a little funny, what he said. In a ridiculous _what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking_ kinda way.

“I’m sorry to ruin your whoreish plans,” Eren murmurs, moaning quietly when Jean flicks his tongue out against the pulse point in his neck.

“No plans,” Jean hums, kissing Eren’s neck and mouthing hotly at his ear, making Eren squirm against the wall.

Without really thinking, his head about as lost at it was before at dinner, he says, “This used to be my school, you know.”

Jean pulls back a little, smirking, his mouth wet and a little swollen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eren drones in response, suddenly upset over being the cause of the detachment of Jean’s mouth from his neck.

Jean, very pointedly, pushes his hips into Eren’s, leans back in to his ear and says, “You ever wanted to do the dirty round the back? Cause I am willing, and probably trashy enough to do it right now.”

Eren’s entire body shivers, an almost liquid hot shooting up his spine. He has enough wits about him to snort and reply with, “Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted in elementary school,” but Jean sees right through it, pulls away to grin at him in the way that makes it feel like someone’s kicked the ground out from beneath him, holding his face and kissing him deep and slow.

They’re about halfway to fucking with their clothes still on, a mess of clouded breath and panting moans, Eren squirming to get any kind of touch on his dick, even an accidental one. Jean has far more composure, or perhaps decency, and he still apparently feels like fucking talking.

“Hey, why wasn’t your dad there?” he asks Eren, breathless but still firm enough for Eren to know it’s a serious question.

Eren shrugs a little, his hips still pushing against Jean’s like they’re completely out of his control. “He isn’t around much right now,” he says, and Jean’s half frown is terrible— Eren decides he never wants to see it again.

Jean kisses the corner of his mouth, and quietly murmurs, “Do you want him to be around?”

“Can we not fucking talk about my dad right now?” Eren rasps, his body caught in this aching pull, orbiting around this boy he’s decided he apparently can’t get enough of— big mouth and all.

Jean, at least, takes the fucking hint, and then he has Eren whining like a needy little slut when he’s shoving his hands down the front of his jeans, smearing the seemingly endless amount of precome that’s been leaking from his dick since this all started, gripping and then stroking down, taking all the strength in Eren’s knees with it.

They’re out in the middle of the fucking suburbs, right around the back of a fucking _elementary school_ , round by the bricks near the dumpsters. If this doesn’t speak small town trash in heaving volumes, Eren doesn’t know what does, but then all Eren has to do is reach down and grip Jean’s cock through his shorts and he’s coming— Eren feels it, the hot spread, the way the denim gets all damp, the way Jean curses like a fucking sailor into his neck.

Eren wants to get down on his knees, rip the messy shorts off of him and clean the mess with his tongue, but his heart is already pounding for fear of being caught and possibly shot— no hesitation, shoot to kill, dead on the scene. That would be it for them, but at least one wouldn’t have to live without the other.

Which is kind of a morbid thing to be thinking about when he’s biting into Jean’s shoulder to muffle the moan he makes when he comes all over his hand.

The fog clears, and Jean is there, smirking like the dopey idiot he is, wiping Eren’s spunk from his palm all over the brick at their backs, stumbling on wobbly legs.

Eren swats at his hand and then snaps, “Gross dude, kids probably touch that wall.”

Jean takes a pointed glance towards the dumpsters, and then subsequently the faculty parking lot behind them. “If the kids are coming back round by the dumpsters here, then they probably have bigger problems to worry about.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Eren mutters, kicking himself away from the wall while he hoists up his jeans and redoes the button on them, as discretely as possible.

“What?” Jean chirps, jogging a little to catch up to Eren, still shaking his hand off, before apparently deciding to just say to hell with it and wiping it all over his ruined shorts. “You’ve never heard of psycho janitors hacking up kids? This is middle-america bro, that shit happens all the time.”

Eren sighs, looks straight ahead and tries to will his heart to stop pounding so hard by mentally counting the steps left to Jean’s house. He used to know them by heart, right from the edge of the school. Sixty-three steps down the cul-de-sac to Armin’s house— except he was a kid, and he probably couldn’t really count all that well.

“Have you seriously smoked so much that you can get high from just thinking about it now?” Eren snaps, after one too many childish pokes and prods from the tip of Jean’s finger, that insistently immature mood he slips into when Eren feels like ignoring him.

“Nope,” He says, “I just get all giddy and stupid around you.”

_Yeah, no shit,_ Eren thinks, and then says, “You’re so fuckin gay, dude.”

“Yep,” Jean grins, and that’s probably second on the list of things Eren loves and hates simultaneously— Jean’s ability to be so eagerly honest about things. Apparently it’s rubbing off on him, shit.

By the time they get to Jean’s house, Eren is somehow horny again, so they end up making out in the dark corner by the fence at the side of the house. Eren really had come here with the intention to skate, but he’s too strung out and fucking exhausted from having come in public and then being forced to walk right afterwards. Jean doesn’t seem in any rush to be going inside, at least.

He’s still full of bullshit talk, though.

“I think your mom knew already, dude,” he says, right into Eren’s mouth on a soft, teasing kiss.

Eren shrugs, his shoulder twitching helplessly again. “Probably did.”

“What were you so afraid of, then?” Jean asks quietly.

_You. You, you, you, it’s always you. I’m fucking terrified of you._

“Just… being looked at differently. Or something,” he mumbles.

Jean just keeps kissing him, humming like he likes the way Eren tastes, tugging on his tshirt enough that it’ll have a Jean’s-fist shaped sag in it tomorrow, more than likely. He pulls back from Eren, just enough to breathe, but so their lips are still touching. “I don’t wanna leave,” he says.

“Then don’t,” Eren blurts, and he hopes to fucking hell Jean can’t hear the desperation in his voice— can’t weed through and find that the root of all this twitching anxiety has fuck all to do with what anyone else thinks, and all boils down to _Jean_ , now. Jean alone.

“We could sleep on the pipe again?” Jean questions hopefully, but Eren shakes his head, pushes a firm hand between them to dislodge their hormonal bodies from their attempts at fusing into one being.

“It’s too cold,” Eren says, and then leans up to kiss Jean’s frown quickly, just because he genuinely does _hate_ the way frowning looks on his face. “We can go camping this weekend, or something.”

Jean smirks a little. _Camping_ is their term for ‘fucking off and getting a motel’, and Eren thinks he might actually need it. It’s expensive and stupid, but so, so worth it to be able to be alone, completely alone. And not outside, too.

Eren senses Jean’s question— the same question he’s had all night, the one lingering in the hesitant glances he keeps sending Eren’s way. _What’s wrong, seriously?_

Eren thinks about telling him, just not right now. _I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to go to school, but you do, and no one ever wants to stay here._

They’ll come to that when they come to it, Eren decides. Jean seems to concede defeat for now too, grabbing Eren by the face and planting a disgustingly sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“G’nite, _boyfriend_ ,” he leers, and Eren punches him for the third time tonight, but he’s grinning so hard it makes his cheeks ache and yeah— maybe the world isn’t ending just yet.


End file.
